The Secret of Surprises
by dorkysamantha
Summary: There will always be moments, in every person's life, that are unexpected. It's God's way of reminding us that we do not, in fact, have everything figured out. Little opportunities to check ourselves. Check our egos. Rachel and Quinn were definitely unexpected.
1. Prologue

**Author's Note: This is my first time writing Faberry. I do not own the italicized quote below.  
**

* * *

_Sometimes_

_people ask us the wrong questions_

_so we cannot give them _

_the right answers_

_but the worst part is when_

_we become those people_

_we ask ourselves_

_the wrong questions_

_because we are terrified_

_of hearing the right answers._

* * *

There will always be moments, in every person's life, that are unexpected. It's God's way of reminding us that we do not, in fact, have everything figured out. Little opportunities to check ourselves. Check our egos.

I find myself stuck in these moments a lot. My life is full of unexpected twists and turns. Maybe that's because _my_ ego is the size of New York City. That's for a good reason, though. When you possess such talent, the only plausible way to exert pride is to make your presence known. I would not be Rachel Berry if my chin wasn't up—constantly. I would not be Rachel Berry if I wasn't bossy. I wouldn't be me if I pretended to be unaware of my potential—God knows that I wouldn't be me if I didn't go after what I want and get it _every_ time. That doesn't make me a diva (although I will shamelessly admit to being that, too) and it doesn't make me impossible to love. It makes me Rachel. It makes me…. Me. And you can bet your less-than-talented butt that I like being me. There's nothing wrong with loving yourself. Apparently, though, the universe disagrees with me. Getting what I want is never easy. Perhaps that's what sets me apart from average people, though—my tenacity.

These unexpected moments, mentioned before, never cripple my undying ambition. You don't have to worry about me giving up (face it—I know you were worried), but maybe a little tired…. Yes, even _I_ get tired too. I don't mean _sleepy _tired—No, my sleep schedule is much too exact and regular to tire my body. Sometimes, though, my _mind_ gets tired. I can't help getting a little discouraged when I'm hit with these curveballs. Frankly, I don't think I deserve it. I contribute to society with generous donations to PETA and, every Christmas, I sing carols to homeless people. I'm not even _Christian _and I donate my flawless talent by singing _Christian _songs. For all intents and purposes, I am a good person. That's why I am _baffled _at life's insistence on giving me a hard time. My life is full of unexpected moments, things, people….

Quinn Fabray? Well….. Quinn Fabray was _definitely_ unexpected.


	2. Meet Pink Mess

_We blame everyone else_

_For missed opportunity_

_And beautiful moments gone by_

_Simply because it is easier than accepting_

_Our own fear of feeling anything but numb_

* * *

She looked like the kind of girl who wanted you to try very, very hard to figure her out, just so that she could deny you and watch, with great delight, the disappointment on your face. She looked like the kind of girl who would _almost_ give herself to you, just to take herself away before your sad eyes.

Torn black skinny jeans, too-tight KISS T-shirt, leather vest and pink hair that screamed _Pay attention to me. _

I am an _excellent _judge of character, even upon first glance. My dads always told me never to judge a book by its cover but, frankly, this book made herself _very_ readable. She was a mess. What other kind of person might dress like a confused biker? And… the pink hair? Mess. She was a mess.

She was also, despite the _NO LOITERING _sign, loitering. Outside of my apartment building. With a cigarette in her mouth. It was late at night; I'd just been getting back from rehearsal (When you're in the _real _industry—Like, Broadway, some rehearsals run until 2 AM. Bear that in mind when you think of competing with me. I can handle these long days, you see. My body is conditioned for the stage). God knows why this girl insisted on hanging in _below_ freezing weather wearing nothing but a scrappy leather vest to cover up. Daddy would be horrified. Normally, I would've walked right by her. I make it my business to avoid those members of society who _clearly _are not concerned with the wellbeing of anybody but themselves. The moon must have been in Uranus though because, for some reason, I stopped and spoke to her.

"Hello," I greeted. My tone was friendly and warm, if I can speak for myself. She'd probably tell you that I sounded condescending, but that's because she hated the world. "My name is Rachel Berry."

This girl couldn't be bothered to look up from the book she had clutched in one hand (the hand that wasn't holding her cancer stick… Honestly, who holds a lit cigarette anywhere _near _a book?) when she spoke to me. "I don't give a shit," she mumbled. She just barely spit it out, really. I had to strain my ears to hear her.

When you're in the industry, like me, you are on the receiving end of so much attitude—directors, fellow (jealous) cast mates, etc…. That's why her obvious dismissal of my presence had no effect on me. You learn to shake things like that off. After clearing my throat, I straightened right up and prepared myself for more one-sided conversation.

"Right," I started, sounding about as confident as I do on my audition days. "What are you reading?"

I'll let you in on a little secret because, if you're reading my story, you _clearly _have impeccable taste and you deserve some inside information: I didn't really care about what she was reading. Honestly, I was trying to find a way to get her to move from where she was leaning on my apartment building. She must've picked up on my disinterest, because I got no response. None. Seriously, where were this girl's manners? I did, however get a glimpse at the book's binding. _Mansfield Park. _Huh. The pink-haired mess liked to read Austen? Odd. Austen is the romantic type—This girl looked like she'd never even _heard _of love.

I shifted uncomfortably on my feet. Maybe it was the heels I'd been wearing all day, or maybe she just made me uncomfortable. She shouldn't have made me uncomfortable, though. I deal with rude people on a regular basis (like I said—show business). "You know, you really should not be smoking so close to this building. It's mine, by the way. This building? It's my apartment building. I live here. So do a lot of other people. I consider it my duty to act as a voice for those members of society who may be a bit too timid to stand up to injustice. And… this? You smoking so close to our home? Well, I must say, I consider it a grave injustice. Do you know that a large population of the country dies from secondhand smoke?"

That got her attention—my bossiness. It usually gets attention. It gets respect, too. Because—Honestly? – Who _wouldn't _respect someone with my authority? Pink mess finally looked up from that damn, unfitting book and shot daggers at me. Daggers mixed with slight confusion, to be specific. I shouldn't have noticed the way her lips twitched. That's not something that you notice about a person unless you're attracted to them, and—this girl? Well…. I was _not _attracted to her. She dropped her cancer stick, one combat boot smushing it into the gravel, and snapped _Mansfield Park _shut. I didn't expect her next moves because, I was beginning to realize, she was not as predictable as originally thought.

"Has anybody ever told you…" she began, closing the comfortable gap between our bodies. Apparently, nobody taught her about personal space or boundaries, because she was toe-to-toe with me in the next instant. "That you talk, like, _way _too much?"

Her breath. Ugh, her breath. It wreaked. I'm serious; It smelled terrible: Cigarettes, cheap lipgloss and booze. "I beg your _pardon. _Has anybody ever told you about personal _space_?" I retorted with a wrinkled nose, no longer trying to hide my disgust.

She chuckled. Pink mess _chuckled _at my discomfort. Everything about her presence made my skin prickle with annoyance but, then, I couldn't find the place of mind to back away from her. Nothing was wrong with my legs _or _my feet, but I couldn't distance myself from her. It was like her closeness demanded mine. That didn't sit well, either, because I am always in control. "Someday, your talking will get you in trouble. I'd learn to shut up, _Rachel Berry, _or very bad things might happen."

I was, like, really mad at this point. My jaw was on the ground, as you can imagine. "I'm sorry," I scoffed, "Did your parents ever teach you about _manners_?"

That's when I saw it: The _real _mess. Not the mess that she made herself _appear_ to be, but something different. Her facial expression shifted, only for a second, to total disorientation. Something about my response triggered a real emotion from her (who knew she had emotions?). Those hazel eyes widened (I just happened to notice that they were hazel, okay? It's not like I was looking into them), just slightly, and served as a window into what appeared to be a very broken soul, and she sucked in a faint gasp.

In that moment, it occurred to me that, perhaps, she didn't _have _parents to teach her about manners. I shouldn't have felt guilty, especially because _she_ was the first to dish out snarky remarks, but I did. I felt bad. I felt terrible, actually. Lord knows why I was so hung up on Pink mess and her feelings, especially when she was clearly uninterested in being polite to _me. _

She offered no response (none other than the split second of sheer hurt). Instead, she rolled those hazel eyes and shoved past me, disappearing around the nearest corner. Her sudden absence left me feeling an unfamiliar pull in my chest. Mostly, I was annoyed at the confused rush of emotions stewing in my brain. On one hand, I'd be delighted if she and I never saw each other again. On the other, I _needed _to know her name. Almost as much as I needed to know _her. _These conflicting urges bothered me, because Rachel Berry is not indecisive. I _always _know what I want.

Confusion came as a surprise.

I would learn later that _surprises _and Pink mess would always go hand-in-hand.


End file.
